


Do you want me to distract you?

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bedridden Kev and Mother Hen Sam you don't want to miss this one folks, Broken Bones, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Hurt Kevin Tran, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Protective Sam Winchester, Resolved Sexual Tension, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 14:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18263396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: Kevin gets injured during a hunt and Sam takes care of him while he heals.





	Do you want me to distract you?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Balder12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balder12/gifts).



> Written for Balder12 for the Fandom Loves Puerto Rico charity fundraiser! Thank you for bidding on me :) Sorry I am so extremely late! I hope this fills all the UST h/c Sevin desires you could ever ask for :D

There’s a flesh-eating bug on his leg and he _can’t reach it._ It’s trying to crawl straight through his skin. He can feel it nibbling and clawing and scrabbling and _itching,_ just below his knee. He pounds one-handed on the outside of the cast and then grabs the closest weapon—a pen, of all things—and attacks the hard plaster like he’s wielding an ice pick. When that doesn’t work he shoves the pen down the top of the cast and wiggles it around, trying to reach the itch. He’s miles off. He shoves it further in.

“Kevin,” Sam admonishes, coming into the room and immediately seeing what he’s up to. “You know that won’t help.” He’s carrying two steaming mugs of—Kevin sniffs appreciatively—hot cocoa. He puts them down on Kevin’s bedside then puts one hand in the centre of Kevin’s chest, pushing him back against the pile of pillows behind him.

“It’s _itchy,”_ Kevin whines. “Can’t we take it off?”

“It’s only been a few days, you’ve got five more weeks to go.” Sam raises an eyebrow at him. “More, if you decide to keep sticking stationary down there.” He presses his fingers to the top of Kevin’s thigh and leans over him, trying to see down into the cast. He wiggles a finger in, but the pen is well and truly lodged in there now. His finger squirms gently and Kevin eyes his hand longingly, willing the finger to go down another foot and scratch the damn itch.

Instead, Sam pulls free with a sigh.

“What’s that? Number four? You’re getting quite the collection down there you know. You’ll be a walking newsagent pretty soon.” He eyes the cast. “Well. A hopping newsagent, anyway.” His hand is still on Kevin’s thigh, but he doesn’t seem to think anything of it. His fingers curl and he squeezes gently. “Come on,” he says, “let’s make sure your bout of exercise didn’t pull any stitches.” His fingers trail up to the hem of Kevin’s shirt.

“I was being careful,” Kevin mutters. He tries to undo some of the buttons but he’s only got one working hand and he’s more of a hindrance than a help. Sam takes over and deftly pops each button free, folding the flaps of the shirt back to expose Kevin’s chest and stomach. Embarrassingly, Kevin’s visible nipple immediately peaks. He blushes fiercely but Sam ignores it—and him—focusing instead on the bandages covering Kevin’s left shoulder and most of his side and chest. The bandages are still white, thank God. No tell-tale splotches of red to indicate his wounds have reopened. But Sam peels a corner back just in case, eyeing the long slices beneath. His face is grim but he’s oh-so gentle as he presses the bandages back into place. Kevin can’t help but hiss anyway. Even the slightest pressure is excruciating.

“Sorry,” Sam says quietly. He checks the bruising over Kevin’s ribs and then does his shirt back up, slow and methodical. Then he picks up Kevin’s left hand and turns it over, inspecting the tape that’s holding Kevin’s broken fingers together. Nothing appears to be misplaced, but Sam still looks grim.

“I’m okay,” Kevin says automatically. He can’t help it. He hates seeing that expression on Sam’s face. “Besides, chicks dig scars, right?” He grins up at Sam but Sam doesn’t smile back.

“They shouldn’t,” he says sourly. He’s still holding Kevin’s hand.

“Right.” There are a few seconds of silence where Sam frowns at nothing and Kevin looks at Sam looking at nothing. His hand is still in Sam’s. “So, uh,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Hm?” Sam looks up. “Oh, yeah.” He places Kevin’s hand carefully back on the pillow next to him, then picks up one of the mugs of cocoa, holding it handle-out. “Made just how you like it.”

“You mean, made _properly.”_ Dean has the tendency to just pour hot water over cocoa and drink it like that—bitter and boiling and lumpy. Sam’s the only one who bothers to add sugar and cream. There’s even a gooey marshmallow bobbing around on top.

He takes a careful sip and then lets Sam pull the table in close so he has somewhere to put the mug back down. Sam’s always thinking ahead like that.

“Dean found a werewolf book today,” Sam says conversationally, reaching over to move one of the pillows that Kevin hadn’t even realised was making his back ache. “I’ve only looked at the first few pages but it looks useful. I think you’d like it.”

“It’s not that Encyclopedia one is it? Called _Wolf-People A-Z_ or something like that. We’ve already read that one.”

“No, no, this one’s new. It’s got a great anatomy section that shows the body transformations at a muscular and skeletal level.”

“Cool! Do we know the author?” Sam starts on a list of likely authors, given the pen name and the annotations in the margins. They chat happily, sipping on cocoa and laughing.

“I’ll bring it in tomorrow,” Sam says. “We can read it together.”

And just like that Sam’s secured Kevin’s agreement to having someone in his room so he doesn’t have to be alone.

Sam stands up and puts the chair back against the wall. “Well,” he says. “I guess it’s time for bed. You need to go to the toilet first?”

Kevin loses all his happy feelings and goes red. He nods without looking at Sam.

“Bathroom or bottle?”

God, how humiliating.

He waves for the bottle. Sam hands it to him then starts cleaning, whistling softly. Even with the noise and with Sam’s back turned it takes a minute. When he’s done he has to call Sam to take it away before he can tuck himself back into his pants.

“Thanks,” he mumbles when Sam comes back out of the bathroom.

“No problem. Here’s the bell so you can get us if you need anything tonight. Cool?”

“Cool.” _Anything but cool._

Sam smiles and leaves the room, flicking the light off as he goes. Kevin buries his face in his hands.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Spirits tend to be restrained by what was once their physical form, but the thing in the basement is fucking huge. Its shoulders scrape the ceiling and it’s got great big pincer-shaped claws instead of arms. There’s no head but there are eyes where its collarbones should be. Three of them. Yellow and slitted and unblinking. It doesn’t appear to have a mouth but it makes a terrible creaking shriek as it lumbers towards him.

He backs away and trips on a loose bit of concrete, spilling to the ground in a heap. He shuffles backwards on his ass as fast as he can until he hits the bottom of a bookcase.

“Kevin!” someone yells.

“Down here!” he yells back. The spirit follows the sound of his voice and leans over him. Its pincers clack. Kevin can see straight through it. It looks insubstantial. Incorporeal. Except the ceiling that it brushed against is charred as though someone had done upside-down burnouts on it. There are claw marks on the bookshelves. The spirit is clearly about as incorporeal as Kevin is.

He raises the stupid silver necklace in one hand, letting the little charm swing from the end of it. “Dean said this would work,” he gasps. The spirit glares at him, lifts itself up to its full height, and roars.

Kevin screams.

“Kevin!”

 _Down here!_ he tries again to yell back, except this time it doesn’t work. The bookcases begin to topple. The spirit whirls around him.

“Kevin!”

Wood splinters and explodes, and something lands with a _crack_ on his right leg. He can’t get free. The little charm disappears beneath a pile of books. The spirit rears and pulls its terrible clawed arm back, and then it swings. Pain explodes along his left side. He screams again.

“Kevin!”

_Help! Down here!_

“Kevin!”

“Kevin, wake up!”

Sam’s face is an inch above his.

“Help,” Kevin gasps. God, it hurts, it hurts. “Help! It—”

“Slow breaths, Kev. Come on, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

He tries to grab Sam’s shoulder but nothing works, he’s not working, he’s _dying._

“Sam,” he moans.

“’m right here, you’re okay. You’re in the bunker. Slow breaths for me, okay?”

Sam is laid out across Kevin’s right side. His leg is thrown over Kevin’s waist. He’s got one big arm pressed soft against Kevin’s other side and even though there’s no weight to it it’s _agony._

“Get off,” he begs.

Sam immediately rolls to the side. “Sorry,” he says, “sorry, you were hurting yourself. You were—you need to calm down. Breathe with me, Kev.” His face is still right up close to Kevin’s. He breathes audibly. His chest touches Kevin’s uninjured shoulder.

Kevin moans. He’s shaking. It hurts so fucking bad. He reaches across to grab hold of his side because it feels like his insides are going to fall out. Sam grabs his hand on the way over and twines their fingers together instead. He’s still breathing loudly. All the way in. All the way out. Kevin copies almost unconsciously and as soon as he does he can feel the tremendous thunder of his heart.

“The, the thing,” he whispers. “The spirit.”

“It’s gone,” Sam says evenly, slowing his breathing even more. His fingers tighten. His palm is almost too warm against Kevin’s. Kevin brings their joined hands up to his face and uses the back of his thumb to rub the last of the nightmare out of his eyes. His forehead is clammy to the touch. He leaves their hands against his face while his breathing and heartrate slow. Sam’s breath tickles the side of his neck.

“Christ,” he whimpers. Sam’s fingers tighten.

The overworked synapses at the back of his head choose this moment to go haywire for a totally different reason.

Sam is in bed with him. Sam’s body is right alongside his own. Barely an inch separates them from top to toe.

“Christ,” he says again.

Sharing a bed with Sam is right up there in the list of filthy things that Kevin spends his nights imagining, but instead of making him hot he feels… the opposite. He’s safe. His side aches and his leg itches but he’s warm and comfortable and _safe._

They lie together for a few minutes.

“I have to replace the bandages,” Sam whispers, and extricates his hand from Kevin’s. Cold air replaces him when he gets off the bed.

“I’m okay,” Kevin says automatically, but when Sam turns the lights on there’s the awful splotches of red, betraying the lie. He accepts two painkillers without protest.

Sam washes his hands and pulls on a pair of latex gloves, snapping them brusquely. He peels back the bandages. Beneath, Kevin is bleeding sluggishly. Sam probes the wounds, then sets to work.

“At least you didn’t pull the stitches,” he says. It seems like a small mercy. Kevin grits his teeth and tries not to make a noise as Sam cleans the skin and then tapes new bandages into place.

Fucking _ow._

Sam’s eyebrows are pulled gently together as he concentrates. His lips move very slightly, as though his tongue is working in tandem with his fingers. _You’re gorgeous,_ Kevin thinks dazedly. Before the spirit one of Kevin’s many fantasies had been Sam in a doctor’s lab coat, giving him a thorough, er… _inspection._ Getting fifteen Winchester-style stitches (whiskey and dental floss in the Impala’s back seat) should have been enough to dissuade him of _that_ little daydream, but he can’t stop himself from imagining Sam finishing his work, then leaning over and scooping up Kevin’s dick and working him with the exact same level of steady concentration.

Blood diverts south and he has to focus on the pain in his side to avoid embarrassing himself. He’s only in the loosest, flimsiest pair of sleep shorts, since nothing else will fit over his cast. If his dick so much as _twitches,_ Sam will notice.

Sam tapes the last bit of gauze into place and Kevin relaxes marginally, then tenses right back up when Sam eases onto the bed next to him.

“Wh—” he says. Sam pulls the blanket over them both. “What?”

“Try and get some more sleep,” Sam says. “I’ll wake you up if you have another nightmare.”

 _And what if I have a wet dream?_ Kevin doesn’t reply.

 _And how do you expect me to sleep with you right there?_ he also doesn’t say.

“O… Okay.”

He stares blankly at the ceiling.

Sam’s breath evens out but there’s no way he’s asleep.

Kevin counts the beats of his heart.

He imagines Sam’s hand sneaking across his belly, and then lower.

He imagines Sam’s lips on his neck.

He imagines Sam’s calf between his own.

Sam prying his knees apart.

Sam’s tongue, soft and wet.

The plush warmth of his mouth.

The sound of his voice coming from between Kevin’s legs.

God, they’re not even touching, not really.

But they could be.

Sam’s fingers at the back of his thighs.

Sam’s cock… _God,_ his cock. In… _In_ Kevin, somehow. In his hands, his mouth.

Kevin squirms helplessly and hiccoughs with pain as his side ignites. Sam rolls gently and his arm comes to lay across Kevin’s sternum, with his elbow on Kevin’s belly button and his fingertips resting on Kevin’s collarbone.

“Shh,” he hushes. “I can hear your big brain spinning. Get some rest.”

Yeah, sure.

 _I’m as likely to fall asleep as I am to sprout wings,_ Kevin thinks.

And then, because he’s nothing if not inconsistent, he immediately falls asleep. The weight of Sam’s arm follows him into his dreams, where he’s visited by strange creatures that twine around him and nuzzle his neck and shoulder.

It’s… nice, actually.

When he wakes up Sam is gone.

His leg fucking itches.

He looks down at it. “Please don’t,” he begs it.

It itches _harder,_ somehow.

He reaches for a pen.

Sam walks in at the exact moment that Kevin loses it with the others. He rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ve found a way to get them out.”

He holds up a pair of salad tongs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A routine begins to form around him with absolutely no direction or input from Kevin himself. Sam spends the morning researching in Kevin’s room, sharing breakthroughs and ideas as he goes. Kevin busies himself with the tablet or whatever other book Sam brings him. Some days he dozes, which Sam says is natural because he’s still healing. After lunch Sam teaches him how to play poker and—more importantly—how to beat Dean at it. They make a single careful trip to the lounge room to watch a movie after dinner, and by the time they make it back from that Kevin’s about ready to pass the hell out. Sam helps him wash up; a horrid affair with a wet cloth and a basin that leaves him sweatier than when they started. Then it’s time for cocoa and bed.

Sam, to Kevin’s mounting horror and delight, always chooses to spend the night.

A week after the nightmare, Kevin finally builds up the courage to ask. “So er… Is your bed not comfortable?”

“No,” Sam says simply. He tucks himself up along Kevin’s right side, just like he always does. Then he sees that Kevin’s looking at him expectantly. He shrugs. “It’s hard to sleep knowing you’re one nightmare away from pulling a stitch and bleeding out overnight.”

“I’m not going to bleed out overnight.”

Sam eyes him. “If you’d rather, I’m happy to sleep on the floor.”

“No! That’s not what I… I sleep better with you here, too.”

Sam smiles and pulls the blanket up to cover them both. “Then I’ll stay.”

His face is only an inch away. Kevin gets the sudden urge to roll over and press their lips together. Sam’s lips, he imagines, are soft and sweet and welcoming. Just like Sam is.

But the moment’s gone as soon as it arrived. Sam flicks the bedside lamp off and then curls around Kevin’s right side, touching (only barely) Kevin’s arm and hip.

His leg starts to itch and he glares down at it in the gloom, hidden beneath the blankets. _Don’t you dare,_ he warns.

He manages to fall asleep with the itch as a sort of background-level annoyance.

He wakes up some unknown time later, and the background-level annoyance is a full-blown _apocalyptic-level_ annoyance.

Usually when he wakes Sam has already been up for hours, but this time Sam is snoring softly at his side, lying on his stomach with his head pillowed beneath one enormous bicep.

 _I wonder if that’s comfortable,_ Kevin thinks, and then gets immediately derailed from his thoughts by the wave of sheer _I need to claw my leg off right this instant._

He grabs the salad tongs and rams them as far down the side of the cast as he can.

They’re not long enough.

“God _dammit,”_ he hisses. Sam mumbles something but doesn’t wake up.

He grabs a red pen and shoves it down the side of the cast as well, then uses the tongs to shove it even further. As far as it can go.

So close.

_So close._

Not close enough.

He thumps his leg with frustration.

 _I am in advanced placement. I am a prophet of the_ Lord. _I will not be outdone by a broken leg and a bit of plaster._

His broken leg and the bit of plaster stare smugly back at him.

And

They

**_Itch._ **

_Fine,_ he thinks. _Time to break this cast open myself._

He squashes the malleable end of the salad tongs into as much of a point as possible, trying not to jostle the bed and accidentally wake Sam. He ends up with a nice blunted tip. He raises the tongs above his head and then he jabs straight down on top of the itch.

Something cracks.

It’s not the cast.

Sam wakes up.

“Huh? Kev?”

If the itch wasn’t so bad Kevin would be memorising the beautiful sleepy confusion on Sam’s face. He sure could get used to waking up next to that.

“I’m fine,” he says instead. “Sorry I woke you, I—”

“Kevin!” Sam’s face transforms from confusion to panic, and Kevin looks down to see why.

There’s blood _everywhere._

“Huh,” he says.

Sam rolls out of bed and somehow turns the lights on at the same time as he grabs the med kit. Because he’s the human equivalent of an octopus, apparently. “Dean!” he bellows.

“I’m fine,” Kevin says weakly. Apart from the itch he _is_ fine. He doesn’t even know where the blood’s coming from.

Dean appears in the doorway.

“Get the saw! Quick!” Dean darts away and Sam turns back to him. “Where’s it hurt?” Sam puts hands on Kevin’s stomach, his hips. He yanks the shirt apart and buttons ping in every direction, but the bandages are pristine. The blood appears to be confined to Kevin’s thighs and crotch. “What happened?” he demands.

“Nothing!” Kevin insists. “I was itchy!” _I’m still itchy!_ He uses his left foot to scratch his other leg, as though scratching the cast will somehow transfer through to the skin beneath. Using his left leg causes all kinds of pain along his bruised ribs, but he’s willing to risk it to make the itching stop. Sam grabs his ankle and pulls it away, then straddles Kevin’s thighs, still searching for the source of the blood. Kevin tries to get up so he can reach the spot with his fingers instead. Sam grabs his wrist and plants it on the bed at his side.

“Stop moving, stop, stop, wait til I can get the cast off.”

“Oh, _please,”_ Kevin moans. He’s so eager to get the cast off and get to the itch that he doesn’t even realise what position he’s in.

Under Sam.

“Oh, please,” he moans again, a little breathily. This is like the start of every single one of his Sam Fantasies. If he’s about to die maybe Sam will consider enacting one before he goes, and also scratching his damn leg while he’s at it.

Sam’s eye seems to catch on the warped salad tongs. He looks between them and the spot on Kevin’s leg that he’s still desperately trying to itch. “Kev,” he says slowly, “what did you do?”

“I was itchy!” Kevin says again.

Sam swipes the fingers of his free hand through the blood on Kevin’s thigh and then rubs his fingertips together.

“This isn’t blood,” he says.

“Well,” Dean says from the door. “I’m so glad I was woken out of a threesome with the Huxley twins for _this.”_

“False alarm,” Sam says, holding up his red-stained fingertips. “Kevin’s banned from red pens from now on.” He points at the saw in Dean’s hands. “Can you put that back where it belongs, please?

“Uh huh,” Dean says dryly. “Sure.” He drops the saw where he’s standing and then about-turns straight back out the door, tossing a middle finger over his shoulder as he goes.

“Asshole,” Sam mutters.

Kevin squirms helplessly. The salad tongs might have cracked the pen but they’d done shit-all to itch the one stupid spot.

“Sa _-am,”_ he whines. Sam’s still got his wrist in one hand and his legs pinned beneath his weight. The itching is _intolerable._ Also, the horny monkey-brain banging pots and pans and yelling _SAM’S SITTING ON ME_ is intolerable. It’s impossible for two such mind-consuming things to exist at the same time. _And yet here he is._

“Don’t _Sam_ me. Now I have to fish broken plastic out of there.”

“You could take the cast off,” Kevin says hopefully.

“Fat chance of that. You’ll try and claw your leg off at this rate.”

“I won’t, I swear! I can control myself!” To put the lie to his words he can’t help himself from wiggling desperately, trying to rock the stupid cast against the mattress.

“Oh yeah, I can see that you’re the picture of self-control right now.”

Kevin tries to make a face that no one would consider a pout. From Sam’s expression, he thinks he’s not all that successful.

“Kev,” Sam warns, “I said no. We can play cards to distract you.”

“I can’t think!” Kevin whines. “All I can focus on is the itch!”

Sam presses his wrist more firmly into the mattress. “We’re not taking the cast off just so you can itch your leg. Tell me how I can distract you.”

Well, doesn’t that just send ideas ricocheting around his head.

 _I know exactly how you can distract me,_ he thinks. But he doesn’t say it out loud because he’s not an idiot, and also he has a working sense of self-preservation somewhere upstairs.

His dick, however, seems to lack any sense of self-preservation at all. It twitches. _Extremely obviously._ Right against Sam’s leg.

In slow motion, Sam looks down. If eyebrows could abandon faces, then his would be ten feet skyward.

“Oh,” he says.

“So, here’s the thing,” Kevin starts, without a single idea of where he’s going to take his explanation.

Sam puts his free hand on Kevin’s dick.

“That’ll work,” he says.

Whatever lie Kevin was going to come up with turns into a strangled gurgling noise, not unlike a water balloon with a hole in it.

“Do you want me to distract you?” Sam asks. He lets go of Kevin’s wrist to gently touch his hip instead.

“No,” Kevin manages. “No, that’s not. Uh. That’s just, a, uh.”

His dick betrays him and twitches again. Sam’s palm is warm even through the fabric of his shorts. He smirks and his fingers curl very very slightly and without thinking Kevin’s hand shoots out to grab Sam’s forearm.

To his surprise—and mortification—instead of pushing Sam away, his fingers twist into the fabric of Sam’s shirtsleeve and he holds him tighter _against_ him.

“You know,” Sam says, “I wondered about you.” His thumb moves carefully along the side of Kevin’s dick.

“I wondered about you,” Kevin parrots back, and awards himself a gold star for somehow forming a complete sentence. He then immediately rescinds the gold star when he realises that what he said doesn’t even make sense. “I mean I think about you,” he amends. “Thought!” he amends further. “I thought about you. Not like. No wait. I mean I like you. I think I like. I. No wait I mean I—”

Sam’s fingers do that thing again. The thing where they curl as gentle as breathing. And whatever Kevin was about to say becomes a stuttered, “O… oh.”

“Does your leg still itch?” Sam asks.

 _Does my leg still what now,_ Kevin thinks.

Oh, that’s right. _Itch._

As soon as he thinks it he’s itchier than he’s ever been in his life. He grabs for the cast and groans. Sam takes his hands off Kevin’s body _(nooo!)_ and then pulls Kevin’s hand off the cast _(double noooo!)_ before sidling down to rest between Kevin’s legs _(yesss!)._

“I’m going to try and help,” he tells Kevin sincerely. The expression on his face is _Yes ma’am I can help you with your home loan,_ not _Hello Kevin I’m going to be in all your wet dreams for the rest of the foreseeable future._

“Oh, Jesus,” Kevin whimpers.

“Is that a yes?”

This is just a walk in the park for Sam, Kevin realises. He also realises, almost simultaneously, that he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that for Sam this is nothing more than a minor medical intervention. Hell, he’d take a lot more for a lot less.

“Yes,” he groans. “Please!”

Sam smiles easily, then picks up Kevin’s uninjured hand and places it on the bed beside him and holds it there. “I want you to keep your hand there,” he says. “If you keep your hand there then I’ll give you a reward.”

As soon as he takes the pressure off Kevin can’t help but reach for his leg. The itch is unbearable. It’s like a single vindictive gnat is worming into him, gnawing at one neuron at a time.

Sam presses his hand back down.

“Don’t you want your reward?” he says. He slides back further on the bed so his chin is at the same level as Kevin’s crotch. He looks up at Kevin through his eyelashes. “You won’t get your reward unless you’re good.” His breath is hot. Kevin can feel the heat on the exact place where he wants Sam’s mouth. “You want to be good, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Kevin breathes. What was he thinking about? Leg what? Leg who?

Sam’s nose just barely brushes the fabric over his cock, causing it to ripple silkily. Kevin makes a Very Embarrassing Sound that is just quiet enough that he thinks he can get away with pretending it never happened. Unfortunately, Sam breathes on him hotly and he then makes the exact same sound at ten times the volume. Damn.

“No moving,” Sam reminds him. Kevin nods shakily. He wants whatever’s coming next almost more than he wants the cast off.

And then… Sam _gets off the bed._

“Wha—?”

“I said no moving!” Sam calls as he makes his way to the bathroom. The tap turns on.  

 _What?_ Kevin thinks. _What? What? What?_ He looks down at his pyjama shorts and is mortified to see that he’s rock hard from just the barest of touches from Sam. Oh God, he’s in trouble. How embarrassing. He lifts his hand off the bedspread only for a second, but then Sam whisks back into the room.

“Uh, uh,” he admonishes. “What did I say? No moving.” He puts a bowl of water down on the bedside table, then kneels on the side of the mattress. “Up,” he orders, but doesn’t bother waiting for Kevin before he slips his fingers into Kevin’s pyjama shorts and slides them off, down to his knees. They hadn’t really been leaving much to the imagination but without them his dick springs up eagerly. His hand flinches out to cover it, as though some degree of modesty will save him now. Ha. Sam doesn’t react at all except to push the tattered shirt edges up out of the way.

 _He’s going to fuck me,_ Kevin thinks wildly, and drops his hand belatedly. Except of course that’s not what’s happening. Sam grabs a wet hand towel out of the bowel of water, wrings it out, and then starts wiping up as much of the ink as he can. It’s not the first time he’s helped Kevin clean up, but it’s certainly the first time he’s done it with anything more than a polite, perfunctory swipe. And it’s certainly the first time Kevin’s dick has taken a (visible) interest in the proceedings.

The wet washcloth dabs around his lower stomach, then rubs in broadening circles, cleaning over his cock and then his balls almost by coincidence.

He can’t hold the groan in.

Sam smirks at him but continues his slow, methodical cleaning. The worst of the ink spill appears to be on his thighs at least. Sam dunks the towel in the water and rings it out, then starts gently scrubbing. Kevin’s cock bounces joyfully with the movements.

 _Stop that,_ Kevin thinks at it. _You’re embarrassing us._

“That’s the best I can do,” Sam says. “You’re going to have to wait for the dyed skin to grow out, though.”

“…Right,” Kevin says. He looks down at where Sam is still rubbing the wet cloth over him. “So, you’re still cleaning because…?”

“Well, I was thinking about your reward.” His hand doesn’t even pause, it just keeps circling, circling. Every second pass or so causes it to rub tantalisingly in the one place Kevin wants it most.

“My reward,” Kevin breathes. _Please let it be what I think it is._

Sam just hums, then drops the cloth in the bowl and replaces it with his hands, circling smoothly over his stomach, his thighs, his sides… He watches Kevin almost clinically. As though he’s analysing Kevin’s reactions.

Christ, that’s probably exactly what he’s doing.

One hand continues its lazy exploration of Kevin’s skin, and the other one slides into place around his balls. Sam’s neutral expression doesn’t even tick. He’s watching Kevin and Kevin’s watching him and _knowing_ that he’s being watched makes it even hotter when he can’t help himself from hitching a breath. His stomach tenses and releases. Sam’s fingers drum, kneading him infuriatingly gently.

“Sam…” he murmurs, twitching.

“Try not to move too much,” Sam advises. “I don’t want to redo any stitches tonight.”

How is he so calm?! Kevin’s about ready to lose his goddamn _mind_ and Sam could be watching a game of lawn bowls! Albeit naked, inky, lawn bowls.

“Sam,” he whines, “you’re killing me!”

Sam’s other hand slots around the base of his cock and the only reason he doesn’t thrust up is because Sam moves over to sit on his knees. “Careful,” he warns. “Easy now, Kev.”

Well Kevin’s had just about enough of _easy._

“Touch me!” he begs. “Please, or I can! Come here and I’ll… I’ll touch you!”

Sam smiles gently at him and his hand twists up, barely gripping him. Oh, what a tease! Kevin’s never like this with himself! It’s like Sam’s _worshipping_ him. “It’s okay,” Sam says. “This is for you. You don’t have to do anything.”

“But I want to! Please! Let me… Let me do it to you, too!”

Sam smiles sadly. “Oh, Kevin, you don’t have to do that.” His hands twist and stroke and water isn’t really the best lube but he’s warm and comfortable and Sam’s right where he’s always wanted him, except still with that sad smile. “I know you don’t feel that way about me. Let me just make you feel good for a bit, yeah?”

 _What is he on about?_ Kevin has no idea if his feelings for Sam are the love-feelings or the lust-feelings (though he has a strong suspicion they’re the first kind) but there are definitely feelings and they definitely extend to wanting to touch.

“I’m not pretending!” He lifts his hand but Sam nudges it away before it can make meaningful contact. “I want to make it good for you, too!”

“Kev…” The sad smile is still there and Kevin never wants to see it again. He groans and clutches at Sam’s thigh, the only bit of Sam he can reach.

“Please,” he begs. “I want to… To do everything with you. I want to kiss you, like they do in the movies, you know? Like with the rain and music and everything.”

“Is that from _The Notebook?”_

Kevin realises he’s giving away too much about himself and he’s going to be in for a world of hurt when Sam lets him down, but he can’t stop at this point. “And I can, I can touch you too! I want to, Sam, I swear, I really, really want to.” It’s not like he’s ever done it before, but he’s seen loads of porn, and if he can do it to himself it’s not like it can be that different doing it to someone else, right? “Sam?” he begs. “Please?”

For the first time, Sam looks like he’s something other than completely indifferent to what’s happening. His lips are very slightly parted. His eyes, when he looks up, are wide. When he sees Kevin looking his tongue darts out to flick briefly on his lower lip before he smiles slightly. His hand moves again and Kevin’s toes curl.

“Wait,” Kevin groans. “Wait, wait, please, just…” He makes grabby hands—well, grabby _hand_ —at Sam. Sam goes still and then he falls forward into Kevin’s searching embrace.

“You don’t have to—” he says, but Kevin’s not giving up now that he’s this close to what he really wants. He prods Sam in the side until he shuffles up, legs going out and back, so he’s half-lying half-kneeling, holding himself carefully up so as not to put any weight on Kevin’s injuries.

“C’mon,” Kevin urges. He couldn’t give two shits about his goddamn injuries. “C’mon, get up, come on, please.” Sam finally gets with the program and spreads his legs so his knees are on the outside of Kevin’s. He gingerly lowers his hips and—“Yes, oh my God, yes, that’s, yeah, Sam, that’s it, that’s _it.”_ His hips jerk up instinctively and Sam tightens his thighs, keeping him on the bed. Sam’s jeans are delicious, delicious torture on Kevin’s dick.

“No moving,” Sam says, but this time he doesn’t sound bored. He sounds… _hot._ Voice low, gravelly. That’s his _sex voice,_ Kevin realises, and then he can’t help himself from trying to jerk up again.

“Gimme,” he demands, voice so breathless he’s barely in a position to demand anything. But Sam complies readily. His own hips shudder against Kevin’s and then he leans back and he shoves his jeans down and then off and he’s hard underneath them and Kevin honest-to-God _whines._ Sam can’t fake that. Sam can’t explain it away under an air of medical necessity. That belongs to _Kevin._ It doesn’t matter if it’s just from friction or from sex or whatever, because when Kevin replays this scene in his head (every day for the rest of his _life),_ he’s going to imagine that Sam’s hard for him. That Sam’s hard because he _wants_ him.

“Kev,” Sam mutters, voice wrecked. He clambers back onto the bed and shuffles forward on his knees until he’s sitting on Kevin’s thighs again. His hand returns except this time he slots his own cock against Kevin’s and he’s holding both of them, palm spread eagerly over one side with his thumb tucked over the top and his fingertips looped beneath Kevin’s cock. His fingers don’t form a circle. Not even close. But he squeezes as though he’s trying to and Kevin shouts wordlessly, body clenching.

“More,” he begs. “Sam!”

Sam’s eyes snap to his when Kevin calls his name, and a ghost of his usual smile flits briefly over his face before he twists his hand and starts working them both like the fate of the world relies on an orgasm in the next 10 seconds. When Kevin looks down he’s glad he doesn’t have a size complex, because Sam is truly proportional and his cock dwarfs Kevin’s.

 _Sam_ dwarfs Kevin, actually, and as soon as he realises it he groans. If Sam lay flat on top of him and someone walked in they wouldn’t even be able to see Kevin underneath.

God, he might not have a size complex but he’s quickly working his way into a size kink. Although it could just be a _Sam_ kink.

He clutches desperately at Sam’s thigh. He’s trying to keep his eyes open, but they keep shutting of their own volition. Sam’s movements are getting jerky and Kevin wants to see Sam come undone. If this is a one-off opportunity, he doesn’t want to miss the main event. Second to his own imminent orgasm, seeing Sam’s is important in a way Kevin tries not to call _cosmic._

“Please,” he cries. Sam speeds up, getting even more erratic, and Kevin thinks he couldn’t possibly feel any better than this. His stomach clenches, the pain in his ribs only a minor distraction against the tidal wave of Sam Winchester rocking against him.

“Come on, Kev,” Sam says, and his second hand joins the first, smearing precome over their heads. His thumb rubs into the tip of Kevin’s cock and that’s it, that’s all she wrote. With a shout his hips jerk and warmth seems to shudder out from the base of his spine right into Sam’s hand. At the last second he remembers to wrench his eyes open, just in time to see Sam tip his head back, shoulders hunched forward and mouth opening into a perfect O as he comes absolutely silently, the muscles of his stomach visible as he clenches hard.

“Oh,” Kevin whimpers, and spills again, impossibly, eyes transfixed on Sam’s face.

Sam topples slowly forward, landing on him in slow motion. At least he sways to his left so he doesn’t land on Kevin’s injured side. Kevin’s heart hammers in his chest as he comes down from the high of _being brought to orgasm by Sam Freaking Winchester._ Sam’s head is just above Kevin’s, and his breath ruffles Kevin’s hair with every exhale. His breathing slows incrementally, and Kevin’s follows suit. He’s so _comfortable._ He wants to turn to the side. If he tilts his head his lips will be at the same level as Sam’s. He wouldn’t even have to kiss Sam, not really. But if he could just… just get close…

But it’s a dumb idea and he steadfastly ignores the urging of his brain (and his stupid pounding heart). Sam was only here to distract him. And now that the distraction has been a success Sam would be leaving immediately.

As if in agreement, Sam lets out a long sigh and then rolls away. The side he had been lying against immediately cools.

“Wait,” Kevin begs. “Wait, you don’t have to go.” Sam pauses and looks down at him, halfway up off the bed. His eyes swing down to where Kevin’s fingers are around his wrist.

“Uh,” Sam says. “Yeah, I kinda do.”

“Just a little longer?” Kevin tugs, and even though there’s no strength in it Sam rolls his eyes and settles back on his side, facing Kevin.

“I have to get up eventually,” he says.

“No, you don’t!”

“Who’s going to clean up this mess then, huh?”

Kevin blinks down at himself, at the splotches of stringy white on his stomach. It seems like a lot, and he sucks in a breath when he realises that it belongs to him _and_ Sam. Because Sam came on him. His dick gives a valiant twitch.

“We could leave it there?” he offers hopefully.

Sam snorts. “You’ll regret that in about twenty minutes.”

“We could leave it there for twenty minutes, then?”

Sam rolls his eyes again but doesn’t get back up. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He wriggles on the bed until his head’s at the same height as Kevin’s. Then he looks up bemusedly. “What?” he asks, catching Kevin staring.

“Nothing,” Kevin is quick to reply. “Just, you know. Thanks.”

Sam’s smile grows. “Kev,” he teases, “was that your first handjob?”

If the blush didn’t give him away the pitch of his voice surely did. “No!” he lies. He’s given himself plenty of handjobs before, after all. What was the difference?

 _Sex God Sam was the difference,_ the traitorous voice in his head supplies.

Sam must see the truth in his face because he laughs, bright and surprised. Then says, “Oh, darling, no, don’t be embarrassed, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh! I just can’t believe no one’s wanted to do that before!”

“Plenty of people wanted to,” Kevin sulks. “I just didn’t like them that way.” The unspoken addition is clear. _But I do like_ you _that way._

“I’m flattered,” Sam says. “But…” And, here it comes. The letdown. The _Sorry I don’t feel the same way._ The _Sorry Kev, we’re just friends._ “But I’ve gone about this all wrong,” Sam says instead.

“Huh?”

“I should have taken you on a date, first. Like, to the movies or something. Do people still do that?”

“You want t-to take me to the movies?”

Sam grins at him and rolls closer, propping his elbow on the bed and putting his chin in his hand. “As soon as your ribs heal we’ll go wherever you want. Your choice. Deal?”

Kevin gapes at him. “Really?”

“Really, really.”

Kevin surges up, finally unable to keep to himself. He’s aiming for Sam’s mouth but he must have been too abrupt because Sam flinches back and Kevin misses him entirely.

“Woah, there,” Sam laughs. “What was that?”

Kevin flops back onto the bed, disgruntled. What’s the point of finding out he’s scored his dream crush if he doesn’t even get a kiss out of it? “I can’t even kiss you,” he mutters.

“Well, if that’s all you wanted.” And Sam swoops down to press his lips lightly against Kevin’s. As first kisses go, it’s rather tame. Kevin grabs the back of his neck and yanks when Sam tries to sit back up, with the result that Sam slips and drops on top of him, driving the air from his lungs and sending a sharp bolt of agony from his bruised ribs. Their second kiss turns out to be Kevin yelping into Sam’s open mouth.

Sam hastily rolls off him. “Kev?”

“Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to— _ugh!”_ He had reached over to clutch his side and his hand had gone through the sticky, cold mess on his stomach. “Oh my God! _UGH!”_

Sam sighs. “Told you so.” He reaches off the side of the bed for the water and washcloth, then begins to clean Kevin up. Kevin watches him work and even though it’s pretty icky and he regrets leaving their jizz to dry, he couldn’t be happier. When Sam’s finished he’ll demand another kiss, and then another, a _proper_ one. And then Sam will spend the rest of the night and when they wake up in a few hours he’ll demand _another._

Sam looks up to see him smiling.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about how itchy my leg is going to be in the morning. I’m going to need _so much distracting.”_

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like this fic? For lack of a built-in 'Read More' button may I recommend some further reading...  
> If you love awkward Kevin being totally blown away by Sex-God Sam, please check out [Silhouetted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12259788) by WhoopsOK. And if you think you might have a teeny tiny little (okay not so little) Sam size kink, you're gonna love [Little Spoon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2195577) by Balder12.
> 
> Thanks for reading, folks. This pairing is _delightful_ to write.


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